Of Balls and Bjorgmans
by Pariaritzia
Summary: Kristoff's first formal event, involving fussy shirts, pearl buttons, tight shoes, and—the horror—lace. Much, much lace. Kristoff is not amused.


**I know nothing about ballroom etiquette. It's always a good idea to write about something you know nothing about, right? :)**

** Bonne lecture.**

"This is stupid."

"This is not stupid!"

"This is _stupid_."

"It is _not_, Kristoff, and stop saying that it is. You're just grumpy because you don't know anyone."

He scowled at the mass of people in the hall below. "I am not _grumpy_. I am perfectly reasonable, because this is—"

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Anna protested, taking hold of his arm in case he tried to make an escape. "There are a lot of nice people who come to these balls, you know. And sometimes if we're sneaky we can steal extra sweets from the dessert table."

He gave her a look. She was wearing a bright orange gown that reminded him of the carrot he had given to Sven earlier. It was not the most flattering colour, but she had looked so enthusiastic when asking his opinion of it he had told her it was nice.

Which it was. Nice in comparison to, say, Hans. Or puce. Or the stupid lace at the collar of his stupid shirt, which had stupid little pearl buttons that took forever and a day to fasten, because they were approximately the size of half his fingernail.

He frowned and eyed the glittering array of people beyond the balcony. "Can't I just be late? I promised Sven an extra carrot."

"The stable boy said he'd take care of it."

"I have to check the ice box in the kitchen."

"The cook said she'd do that."

"I have to…um…iron my socks."

Anna sighed. "_Kristoff_. It'll be fine. Just be yourself and everyone will like you, I promise!"

He thought of accidentally tripping over the banister, and tugging at the lace on his collar when he got uncomfortable, and eating an entire roll in one bite.

"I don't think that'll quite work, Anna," he said honestly.

"Don't be such a baby. You'll do great! Just—"

Anna broke off as a servant came and bowed deeply. "Queen Elsa says you ought to make your entrance now, m'lady."

"All right. Come on, Kristoff!"

She tightened her grip on his arm. He sighed and begrudgingly allowed her to lead him to the top of the stairs.

"The footman better get my name right," he muttered. "Why did Kai have to get sick _today_?"

"Didn't the replacement say it properly when he was checking the list of guests?"

"He called me Kristoff _Butterman_."

"Oh! Well—"

The footman's voice drowned out the rest of her sentence. "Princess Anna of Arendelle and her escort, Mr Kristoff…"

"Bjorgman," Kristoff said under his breath as they descended the staircase.

"Butterman!"

"An innocent mistake!" Anna squeaked, her grasp on Kristoff's arm painfully tight as she watched his expression darken. "Perfectly innocent! Just leave it, Kristoff!"

"Bjorgman! It's not such an uncommon name! Two syllables! Eight letters! Why can't he—"

"Good evening, Princess Anna," said a portly man with a large moustache, bowing before the two of them.

"Good evening, Lord Richmond," replied Anna politely.

Kristoff said nothing. Anna pinched his arm.

"What—good evening, sir."

Kristoff drifted off mentally as Anna and Lord Richmond made small talk for a few minutes. Suddenly the man turned to him. "You seem a trifle out of sorts, sir."

Kristoff blinked. "What?"

"It's his first ball," Anna provided helpfully. "Nerves, you know."

"Ah, yes, of course," said Lord Richmond, nodding wisely. "My son was quite overwhelmed at his own first ball. So many wonderful people, all dressed in their finest, dancing and talking and enjoying one another's company."

Who was this man, anyway? Some kind of promoter for formal events? 'Buy one ball, get one half off!' 'Fun for the whole family!' 'Ten percent discount for couples without children!'

"Sir?" said Lord Richmond, watching Kristoff concernedly. "Are you quite all right?"

Kristoff started. "Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" He blushed; as horrible as this was, he did not want to be rude. "I'm just—it's a little hot."

"We can go outside if you'd like," Anna offered, then added softly, as Lord Richmond took his leave and went off to talk to someone else, "I'd like to replace my memory of the balcony outside, anyway."

Suddenly he felt even worse. "I'm sorry, Anna. You actually like this sort of thing, don't you?"

"I just like being around people," she clarified, as they went outside. "I was alone for a long time."

"I'm sorry," he said again, sitting beside her on the bench.

"Oh, it's fine. People like different things, right? It's what makes them interesting. But you have to stop tugging at your collar," she said, just as he began to do so. "You've been doing it every few minutes. You'll ruin the lace."

He froze, then let his hand drop, reddening again. "Lace is itchy," he said defensively.

"Maybe we can get the tailor to make a new shirt for the next ball," said Anna thoughtfully, fingering the collar.

"The next ball?" Kristoff repeated apprehensively. "There are more of these?"

"Of course, silly! We have one of these every month!"

"Oh _no_."

"It'll be fun! And since there's four weeks before the next one, we'll have time for you to learn how to dance!"

He groaned. "By the end of this year the entire country will think that the clunky man who's always with the princess is named Kristoff Butterman."

"I'm sure the footman will get it right eventually! If he has to say it every month he'll have to learn it someday, right? And you aren't _clunky_, Kristoff," she said, giving him a reproachful look. "You're very handsome."

"Right," he said flatly. "So is Sven."

"Sven _is_ handsome! I'm sure he has a lot of lady reindeer friends. You really need to learn to take a compliment—"

"Princess Anna?"

A thin, elderly lady with a wrinkly nose stood in the doorway.

"Good evening, Lady Katia," said Anna, rising with Kristoff. "How are you?"

"As well as I can be, living in that drafty country home all the time," said Lady Katia, somewhat irritably. Kristoff wondered if there was something bad that the lady could smell that he could not; her nose remained perpetually scrunched up. "My son's wife is a most repulsive girl, and insists on opening the windows in the springtime."

"Oh! Er—" Anna threw Kristoff a helpless look.

"Some people like the fresh air after being inside all winter," he offered, coming to her rescue. "Birds and flowers and sunshine and…stuff."

Lady Katia looked at him as though he were a mildly interesting shrub. "Do you like spring?" she asked politely, speaking slowly.

Why was she talking like that? "Yes, ma'am. It makes harvesting a lot easier, because the ice is a bit melted and can chip off faster."

"Ice harvesting," said Lady Katia, smiling unpleasantly. "How quaint."

Kristoff flushed. "It's how I make my _living_, ma'am, not—"

"What was your name again, young man? Butterman? A most unusual name, is it not? Why not Iceman?"

His flush darkened. "Bjorgman. My name is Kristoff Bjorgman."

"Ah. A _common_ name, I see."

"What a nice evening!" Anna intervened hastily, seeing the scowl forming on Kristoff's brow and the smirk playing Lady Katia's lips. "A little chilly, though, Kristoff, so I think we ought to go inside!"

She fairly dragged him back into the ballroom.

"Ice harvesting is not _quaint_," Kristoff grumbled, looking over his shoulder at Lady Katia. "It's a perfectly respectable living and requires a lot of hard work."

"Yes, Kristoff, I know, and normally I would be fine with you arguing with her over that, but…" Anna looked up at him imploringly, clutching at his arm. "I wanted this to be a _nice_ evening, and for us to be happy…"

He felt horrid once more. "I'm happy," he said automatically, wishing her eyes wouldn't well up like that. "I'm happy, really. Anywhere you are, I'm happy."

She smiled shakily. "Really? Because I know you don't like this sort of thing, because there's a lot of people like Lady Katia and your clothes don't fit properly…"

"And my shoes are too tight," he added, though he smiled back. "I'm fine, Anna. This won't last much longer anyway, right?" He looked overtop the guests milling about. "I can see the dessert table from here, and they have those little chocolate cream things you always swipe from the kitchen. Come on."

He took her hand and together they plowed through the crowd.

"You're very useful for getting through people," said Anna, giggling as Kristoff had to hop to avoid stepping on a man's foot. "It's like having my own battering ram."

"A bright blond battering ram."

"A _cute_ bright blond battering ram," she corrected. "Ooh, the tray of chocolate creams is still nearly full." She popped one into her mouth. "Mmph. Kristoff, you should try these."

"I'm not a fan of cream."

"_What_? You aren't human! Open your mouth! I'm making you try this!"

"Get _away_ from me! Ice harvesters don't eat chocolate creams! It isn't a thing!"

"It is _so_ a thing!"

Their argument lasted most of the evening, as Anna discovered, to her dismay, that ice harvesters never eat sweets. She made Kristoff try everything on the dessert table, and he was forced to admit, by the time the ball ended, that on very special occasions, particularly when being held hostage by a princess half their size, ice harvesters _did_ eat sweets. Even better, the excess sugar put him a good mood, and when the footman announced the names of the guests as they departed, Kristoff _almost_ didn't glare at him when he said 'Butterman.'

Almost.


End file.
